And You Get Back Up Again
by holme-james
Summary: Narcissa gets into some danger, placing Draco in charge, and it takes him on an interesting (at times sad, others funny) adventure.
1. Pulse

*WARNING!* - talks about blood. I suggest you don't read if you're squeamish about it!

AND YOU GET BACK UP AGAIN

Pulse

It was quiet in the Malfoy Manor that Wednesday the 22nd, 1998. But a peaceful sort of quiet, with rain softly pitter-pattering against the big windows, but not falling hard enough to call a storm.

_So nice and cozy, _Draco thought, smiling absently into the kindling fire on the wall. He was dressed in a rare pair of green sweats and a rather baggy Slytherin hoodie, and currently was drumming his fingers against his white tea mug.

Draco felt very happy, despite what had become of his family up until now. Yes, his father was crumbling away in a lonely Azkaban cell at this very moment. And yes, his mother hadn't properly spoken to him since the Dark Lord's defeat. But it was raining out, and he loved rain, especially the grey designs that danced across the carpet below his feet when the room was dark and lightning lit up the sky.

A popping noise made Draco jump, ripping him out of his trance. A single drop of tea landed on his leg, and he swore, heart still beating fast from the sudden scare.

"Demi," he nodded nonchalantly to the house elf that was suddenly in front of him, clad in an overlarge green shirt.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, Master," Demi apologized, looking up into silver eyes. Draco's mouth twitched into an almost-smirk, both because of how adorable her big eyes were and because her high-pitched voice sounded like a squealing kettle.

"No matter," Draco replied, feeling generous in light of his good mood, "What is it then?"

Demi put a hand to her big ear, pulling as if nervous. "Mistress Narcissa would like to know if you will be needing any clothes, sir. She is going shopping soon."

Sighing, Draco's eyes flickered to a darker shade for a moment at the mention of his mother. "Tell her I'm doing quite fine. But do mention we're running a little low on food."

Draco smirked, feeling the teensiest bit bad for telling her that, when, in fact, their refrigerator was magicked to stay stocked all the time.

"Oh, yes, Master, right away, sir!" she replied, oblivious to the humorous glint in Draco's eyes.

There was a piff noise as she disapparated, leaving a swirl of dust gently cascading to the carpet.

He was just about to take another sip, lifting the mug up to his lips, when another *pop* made his hand jerk and he spilt quite a lot down his front. Instinctively, he reached into his pant pocket to get his wand, but he grimaced, remembering that Potter still had his wand. He looked up for the first time and saw Demi, shaking, eyes wide and fearful.

"What? What is it?" he asked, back stiffening and becoming alert, quickly stripping his wet sweater off at the same time and throwing it to the side.

"It's M-mistress N-narcissa, Master!" she squeaked, her voice almost painful to hear as it was now an octave higher than even than before, "She just, just... Dropped!"

Draco's eyes widened, his hands beginning to tremble and his mouth gone dry.

"W-what? Is she breathing?" he ordered.

"I d-don't know, master. I-" he watched in slight annoyance as Demi suddenly fell to the ground in a slump, covering her eyes and sobbing, "I'm sorry, Master Draco! I'm stupid, so stupid! I-"

"Where is she?" Draco choked, not wanting to hear the answer. This had to be a joke, it just _had_ to!

"K-kitchen, sir!" she heaved, sniffling.

Forgetting he could just apparate there, Draco sprinted past the distressed house elf and into the sparkling clean kitchen. He felt a shiver looking at the large grey cold marble kitchen island int he middle of the room. He walked by the fridge by the door, a bewitched skylight that currently was mimicking the sky in Hawaii, and a small bewitched cupboard in the corner. A large cobra snaked its way along the wallpaper alongside Draco, hissing slightly before disappearing into another room. Missa, Draco remembered naming her.

Biting his bottom lip and scanning his eyes along the room, Draco looked for any possible sign of his mother. The floor seemed to be cleaner than it should be, as usual, but no sign of her yet...

"Oh, Merlin!" he gasped silently as he rounded the corner of the kitchen island.

There lay his mother, eyes wide and mouth awkwardly parted, staring up at nothing. A pool of blood spread slowly around her face, reminding him of some sick fallen angel; the purity of her white silk hair now stained as it fanned around her.

"M-mother? Mother?" he was on the verge of sobs at this point, trying to keep them in and be a man, but his chest was heaving and his breath came out in jagged gasps.

He wrapped his slender fingers around her slim wrists, biting back the tears.

"Mum," he whispered, "mum, please!"

She continued her vacant stare at absolutely nothing, and the pool of bright crimson still trickled into a larger mess every passing second. Draco saw for the first time that her legs were placed awkwardly, as if she'd slipped.

"Get a grip," he sternly but shakily whispered to himself, "What would father think of this?"

Draco immediately composed himself, going to that special place and becoming as vacant, if not more, as his mother was. Now he could think clearly.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "yes, check for a pulse," in a dead tone and cooly picked up her arm to feel for one.


	2. What A Mess

* WARNING!* - talks about blood. I suggest you don't read if you're squeamish about it!

What A Mess

Draco's calm facade faltered for a second as, in utter joy and thankfulness, he felt a slow-but nonetheless apparent-pulse in her wrist. _Thank you, Merlin, thank you, I don't deserve this..._

Draco frowned at himself for talking to some other worldly being. That's not how he'd been brought up; to believe in things that weren't real. He must just be imagining her miraculous survival, he thought to himself. Still, he had to give it a shot. Right?

A single tear ran boldly down his cheek, and he waited until it was at his chin to wipe it away, because it was all the emotion he felt he could allow himself for the day.

Heaving her body over his shoulder, and almost gagging at the huge pool of blood he'd already let seep out of her, he thanked himself for practicing all of those times on his personal Quidditch pitch. She really was quite heavy, way heavier than she seemed. In fact, she looked like a Tinkerbell in a world of bumbling giants.

The last thought he had before disapparating the pair of them was _It's all my fault, again. I ruin everything._

He found himself in a large white waiting room, and he had to wince as he actually _heard _the blood dripping onto the floor behind him, no doubt staining it. But sometimes there are more important things to worry about.

It took a couple seconds for anyone to actually notice him, what with the twenty or so wheezing witches and waiting wizards crowding the place. But by the wide eyes and looks of shock from everyone who was instantly gawking at him, and the fact that besides a couple coughs the room had suddenly gone completely silent, Draco took it that they had finally realized the weight of his situation-literally.

"Oh m-my, th-this," a stout staff woman reminding Draco sourly of a Weasley stuttered at him. Taking great pains to appear relaxed and pro-Weasley, he controlled his face, hiding any unfriendliness he felt so that the emergency could be handled.

She continued after a moment of gawking, clearing her throat, "Ahem, s-so sorry, but... My dear, you're in the completely wrong department! The f-fifth floor m-"

Draco was almost flushing from volcanic anger as he interrupted, "Does it look like I care? What the hell is wrong with you?! Can't you see I'm carrying my dying mother over my fucking shoulder?" he was trying so hard now to control his tears and his voice that his throat hurt, "I don't give a damn what floor I'm _supposed _to be on, she needs help! And if you nitwits can't do that, I might as well kill her myself right bloody now! Just wait until my father h-hears about this!"

He was panting at this point, and dearly hoping no one in the room was as updated as they should be at his father's Azkaban imprisonment. He realized he was lucky again, looking around to see that the only expression everyone held was one of fear and cowardice, not of skepticism or humor.

Well, almost everyone. Some old bat with missing teeth and wiry grey hair was applauding him loudly, cackling "GOOD SHOW! GOOD SHOW! BRAVO! ENCORE! BETTER THAN TOM CHESTERFIELD!"

"O-of course Mr. Malfoy, right this way. I apologize," the flustered Wease-look-alike, now beet-red, said. She then threw some sort of silencing charm with a shaky arm at the crazy woman who continued to clap and even stood up, silently stomping her feet on the ground like at one of those American football games.

Draco walked at a steady pace behind the nurse, highly aware of his mother's continuous loss of blood. He wanted to scream at the insignificant, untalented, uneducated witch of a woman bumbling along in front of him. She calls herself a nurse, and yet here he is, bloody carrying his bleeding mother to a room!

"Ah, here we are!" she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone else, "A doctor will be with you shortly!"

Draco watched, half in amusement, as the plump lady hobbled as fast as she could to get away from the situation. Serves her right, he thought to himself, not a bloody well ounce of courage in her anyway.

Sighing heavily, he took in the room for the first time. It was quite bare; making that fact more apparent was everything in it: pure, undiluted white for furniture and decorations. A single small bed on wheels lay under a tiny window, like those in prisons that are kept barred, and a miniscule (to Draco, anyway) dresser stood against the east wall. Besides that, and the bizarre pictures drawn by patients-which mostly consisted of shaky lines and ink splotches-there was absolutely nothing. Draco hated the room. It gave him the chills to think some wizards might've spent their dying hours in this trash hole.

Carefully, but not careful enough, Draco felt, he set her down on the bed. His vision clouded, and he was once again forced to remind himself of the Malfoy honour in order to prevent making a complete fool of himself and crying.

Suddenly, he was aware of his wet shirt. Drenched, really, and the smell alone made him want to vomit, nevermind that it was covered in bloody, well, blood. He couldn't wait to get it off, and so in a matter of seconds Draco stood completely shirtless with his tainted clothes in a heap in the corner of the room. There, he thought to himself, it'll add a splash of color.

"Ahem," a deep masculine voice called from the room's entrance. Draco, sort of in a zone, and not caring at this point what he looked like, turned slowly towards the stranger.

All Draco could do was blink at the man. He was clad in the most expensive shirt and shoes he'd ever seen - and this coming from a Malfoy. A skin-tight white shirt exposed his six-pack, and even though his doctor's coat and pants were as white as his surroundings, the man seemed to pop out from from the hallway and room. Had it been a normal day, Draco might have actually had to scold himself for the slight twinge of attraction he felt for the man just then, whether he liked it or not. But right now Draco didn't feel strong enough to argue with his thoughts about his sexual preferences.

"Hello," Draco greeted in a monotone, his eyes going a bit out of focus.

"Hello, sir. I am-er-Doctor-uh-William Bul-"

"No," Draco put up a hand to silence the idiot. Yes, Draco decided, he was an idiot. Couldn't the doof see the mess behind Draco?

"I don't care if you touch your teddy bears at night, _doctor._ Just f-FIX HER," Draco snapped, pointing at his mother with a shaky finger, surprised at what she looked like. A corpse, white and unmoving.

When the man didn't move after a few seconds, Draco frowned, turning back to him. The man blushed-blushed!-and apologized. Lord, what the hell was wrong with this chap? Dropped on his head multiple times when he was a child?

As Willius or whatever his name was shuffled towards Narcissa, Draco smirked a little inside at being taller than the doctor, but couldn't help himself but to watch how his bottom went from side to side as he walked by.

_If he can't help her, _Draco thought, _my father will surely hear about this!_


End file.
